


Introspection

by Insecuriosity



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Goodbyes, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Introspection, Quirrel suicide fic, Quirrel's thoughts leading up to his final decision, References to Depression, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 22:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18353042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insecuriosity/pseuds/Insecuriosity
Summary: Quirrel reflects on his past and his future. It does not take him very long to discover that his past is static and long gone, and that his future is as empty and decrepit as Hallownest itself. He is tired and ready to enter eternal slumber, and so he takes fate into his own hands.





	Introspection

In the past, Quirrel had believed that the only way someone could come to suicide was through sadness. Passionate sadness, the kind of heartbreak described in songs and theatre-pieces. A storm of emotion so wild that it could tear a bug apart until they gave into the urge to end it all and rest. Without a catalyst like that, no bug would seek ever to end their own life.

Sitting at the edge of the Blue Lake, wondering how he should find his eternal rest, Quirrel was beginning to realise how wrong he had been. There was no raging emotion within him – he wasn’t overcome with grief or howling with sadness. It was rather the opposite. Everything was dull and flavourless, like he was watching it through a foggy window, and he had never realised just how close he had been walking to that edge.   
He’d felt empty and blank long before he had wandered back to Hallownest. Devoid of any purpose or dream beyond a vague sense of importance that clung to the mask he carried. Every village had been just another place where bugs ate food, talked, and procreated. Every road had just been a functional flat surface for his feet to follow blindly. Every sight had been just one of many uninteresting pictures that passed him by. The only thing that had kept him moving forward was the mystery around the mask he carried, and the spark of elation it kindled in him whenever he looked at it. 

Finding Hallownest had returned some colour to his world. Twisted and sickly as the place was, he had sensed that he was closing in on the mysteries surrounding his mask. He had felt sudden pangs of grief when passing certain houses and shops, and fleeting anger at some of the plaques displayed around the City of Tears.   
Those moments had been painful – like being stabbed in the gut – but he had taken them as a confirmation that this was where he was meant to be. If there was grief and anger in this city, there was bound to be liveliness as well. Maybe even happiness. The thought alone had been enough to bring some energy and feeling into his hands.

Finding the answer to the mystery behind the mask he carried had not found him a source of light or happiness. Instead it had snuffed out what little there had been in the first place. 

The excitement and tentative hope that Hallownest had inspired in him was gone, and everything had become dull again. The glittering wet mystery of the City of Tears had become a wet dreary town like all the others. The sizzling anticipation carried within the Fog Canyon had become an uninteresting piece of nature, the kinds of which Quirrel had seen too many of to be impressed by.   
The truth was that he could still move, if he so desired. He still had his nail, his limbs, some Geo… He had been travelling for so many years that he couldn’t remember them all, and this was just one of many stops that he’d made along the way. He could get up and just move onto the next place. 

Endless repetition. The same ache in his legs after a day of walking. The same brew in his mouth that always managed to taste the same no matter what ingredients he boiled over the fire. The same towns, with the same types of bugs and the same types of problems. The same abandoned or infested places, with the same hostile critters in it. Meeting people on the road and exchanging names and goals before never seeing one another again.   
Quirrel was tired of it. He had no desire to go out there again, for there were no sights or mysteries that were going to wake his hopes again. Every feeling in his body had gone distant, as if there was fluff between his nerve endings and his brain, and even thinking was sapping his energy to the point where he felt like he couldn’t get up even if he wanted to. 

In truth, the only reason he hadn’t already taken his nail to himself or stepped into the lake with some weight in his shell, was because he was afraid. How odd that fear, of all feelings, was the one thing that refused to disappear – refused to let him just go. He’d have thought that it would be love, or anger, or pleasant memories, but instead it was just fear.   
He feared the pain he would suffer if he threw himself onto his nail. He feared the lack of breath should he drown himself in the lake. He feared the fall should he toss himself off a high ledge in the City of Tears. Bugs would say that taking one’s own life was a coward’s way out, but cowardice was the only thing keeping Quirrel where he was. Well, that, and the fact that he owed a specific little bug a goodbye before he left, at the very least. 

He wasn’t sure if he would be able to make that happen, with how heavy his limbs felt and how more and more fatigue seemed to settle in his weak little body. But this specific bug had a tendency to find him no matter where he went – or perhaps they just sought him out.

A quiet splashing pulled him out of his thoughts, and he watched as the familiar little warrior hopped and dashed over the Blue Lake towards him, as if thinking about them had summoned them. It seemed like he would get his chance to say goodbye after all. They stopped by his side and angled their dark eyes at his face – and he knew they wouldn’t leave him alone until he’d spoken at least one word. That was they way they enforced conversation, even when they themselves never said a word.   
Quirrel almost smiled. They were an odd occurrence in his life, and one that stood out, even if it wasn’t one that sparked a flicker of hope or emotion in his tepid core. 

“Again we meet my short friend. Here at last, I feel at peace.” He said to them. He wasn’t talking about the lake, so much as about the chance he had to do the last thing he wanted to do before ending himself. “Twice I’ve seen this world, and though my service to Monomon may have stripped my experience from me, I’m thankful I could witness its beauty again.”

Quirrel looked out over the Blue Lake again. He wasn’t lying. Most of his time in Hallownest had made him feel alive again, and had brought colour and beauty back into his life. It had just been taken away again, just as fast.   
The little bug shuffles in place for a little bit, and then sits next to him, folding its agile little legs under itself. It seems weird to see it so still and inactive for longer than a couple of seconds. Even when resting on a bench or in a hot spring, the little warrior had always been hopping and dashing and scuttling like a bug possessed. Did they sense what he was about to do? Did they realise that this would be the last time they would be able to speak to him? Maybe they too were saying goodbye. Quirrel did not know what kind of end was waiting for the little bug when they finished their quest. Would they join him in death once their task was complete? Could a life trapped in the Black Egg really be called living?

In direct contrast with himself, the little bug was a pulsating ball of life and soul. He could feel their power and pure energy from a distance – the will and power to move on from anything shone from them like a beacon. They were heading towards a doomed end. Death, or eternal entrapment until death followed, and yet it was rearing at the bit, bursting with life. 

“… Hallownest is a vast and wondrous thing, but in as many wonders as it holds, I’ve seen none quite so intriguing as you.” Quirrel murmured to his quiet companion. 

Their head briefly turned to them, before looking back out at the Blue Lake. Already, they seemed anxious to keep moving despite the stillness in their body. 

Quirrel barked out a short laugh. “My flattery returns only silent stoicism. I like that. I like that very much…. Incredible…”

They sat with him for a while still, occasionally prodding him for more words – but Quirrel remained quiet. As he had suspected, it didn’t take long before the restless energy spurred the smaller bug into action. They shuffled around where he was sitting, and for the last time tilted their head in a silent request for words. Quirrel said nothing, and a moment later, the rapid footsteps of his only living friend disappeared into the next corridor.   
He could hear the flap of their cloak as they sprang up, and then the harsh taps that signalled that they were climbing their way up. He listened to the sounds of their frantic travelling until they disappeared altogether in the silence of the Resting Grounds.

A handful of minutes later he stood up, and stabbed his nail into the spot where he had been sitting a few moments ago. With stiff knees he crouched, and started to collect what he would need to commit his final act. It was time.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been done before, it shall be done again, but I too wanted to write a fic for the last time we see Quirrel. As an oblivious dunderhead I never realised what the last meeting implied, or that there was a nail now embedded by the lake where there had been none before. I just thought "Oh cool, Quirrel, sit with Quirrel, gotta go find more grubs now." And then later I found out one of the interpretations of his absence and the abandoned nail. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
